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Robin Williams, and being 'almost there'

Pete Stavros, Special to The Courier-Journal
2:19 a.m. EDT August 15, 2014

A man runs past a mural on a wall depicting Robin Williams, in Belgrade, Serbia, on Wednesday.
(Photo:
AP
)

I have been reading the various heartfelt and moving tributes to Robin Williams on his untimely passing Monday, and how he touched so many peoples' lives, whether in his performances or personally. I felt compelled to share my own chance encounter with Mr. Williams several years ago.

It was May of 2000. I was competing in the Escape from Alcatraz Triathlon in San Francisco, my first triathlon. After a random phone call a few months earlier from an old friend looking to reconnect, I had decided on a whim that "we should give it a try."

Dragging myself onto the shore after the mile-and-a-half swim across the San Francisco Bay in 50-some-degree water, I clearly realized that I was in way over my head, and what had seemed like a good idea while safely back home on my couch, had in fact turned out to be a terrible idea.

(Photo: Pete Stavros)

While I was on the bike portion of the course, crunching my gears as I pedaled up the winding hillside roadway to the Presidio, trying, as I had been for the past 15 minutes or so, to catch my breath and think up a graceful exit strategy, I saw, standing on the curb just ahead of me, a man, unkempt hair, bushy beard, T-shirt, cargo shorts, flip flops, clapping his hands and cheering on the participants. When I got closer, he yelled out to me, "Looking good, big guy — you're almost there!"

Well, I clearly was not "almost there." I had only just begun the 18-mile bike trek, and the 8-mile run, half of which was on the beach and included 400 sand steps, awaited me after that.

"Who was this joker?" was my first thought, "and why was he messing with me like that?" The cardinal rule of race spectator etiquette was to never tell the racers they were almost there when they clearly were not.

I did a double take, and noticed that it was Robin Williams. I looked even closer, and saw that he was, indeed, sincere in his encouragement, that he meant it — he really meant it — that I was "almost there" regardless of the cold, harsh reality of my situation. He was his typical energetic, almost childlike self that we have all grown accustomed to seeing, and need only turn on the TV now to watch clips of this played on virtually every news channel. He actually seemed more excited about the race, and about my participation in the race, than I was — and at that moment, I would say that was true.

It was then that the full impact of Mr. Williams' statement connected with me, and I did truly believe that I was "almost there" — certainly more so than a few months previous when I was taking adult swim classes at the Bubble and re-learning how to ride a bike. His words gave me the jolt of encouragement I needed, to get up that hill, and then over the beach, and finally about three hours later (did I mention it was my first triathlon?), across the finish line.

And I have taken those words, and Mr. Williams' enthusiasm for me that day, into other ridiculous races and challenges I have thrown myself into, along with the obstacles that life has happened to put in my way. And no matter where I am, or what I feel, or how far yet I still have to go, I do in my mind believe that I am "almost there."

My heart aches that Mr. Williams is gone, and while I certainly cannot pretend to know what he was thinking during his final days, I am so sorry that he could not find the encouragement along his troubled path that he provided to me on that Sunday afternoon in San Francisco.